hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-07-31 01:51 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-07-31 01:51 pm
Entry tags:
Feckfeckfeckfeck.
This is my lunch break, and I have mad shit to do. I’m up to my eyeballs in tripe that must be done. I don’t want to write something for Harry’s 23rd birthday. Damnit.
Harry Potter
Accidentally on Purpose
There are more shells in the pan than there are egg yolks, and Neville sighs in defeat, laying the wooden spoon on the counter to free his wand hand for spelling away the mess. A tap here and there, and the mess is gone, leaving Neville to prepare the flowers he brought home last night from the nursery. At least he’s quite good with those.
Neville’s entire life falls under the heading of ‘Accidentally on Purpose,’ and he shakes his head as he clips the end of the Fawning Fairylilies and places them carefully into the plastic vase he invested in after the last one broke. Correction: after he broke the last one. Sometimes Neville wonders how he gets himself through the day without cutting off his own toes and fingers, and then he makes sure that the wand in his pocket is not pointing toward his groin.
The Fairylilies exude a faint shimmer, and Neville carefully places the vase on the kitchen table before turning back to preparing breakfast. Harry normally does the cooking, but every now and then Neville takes his turn. When he gets himself together Neville is a cracking cook, but the causalities of his meals tend to outweigh the benefits. They’ve gone through four sets of crockery this year alone, and Neville shakes his head when the smell of charring toast reaches his nostrils. He’s been daydreaming, again, and that was the last of the bread.
He curses half-heartedly, dropping the last of the butter on the floor, and considers letting Harry make his own breakfast before thinking better of it. Neville mutters a cleaning charm to get the bits of dust off the butter, and then runs cold water over it just to be on the safe side. He wants everything to be as close to perfect as it even tends to get, but then Harry emerges from their bedroom, hair askew and scratching at his bare stomach, and Neville drops the butter on the floor again.
That pretty much sorts that.
Neville lips twitch as he watches the birthday boy stumble over his own trainers into the kitchen, and Harry pauses at the entryway to take in the entire scene. His snicker turns into an enormous yawn before he crosses over to the sink where Neville’s standing. Neville whacks Harry softly with the wooden spoon he’d meant to use to scramble the eggs, and makes sure neither one steps in the pat of butter on the floor.
“A little appreciation wouldn’t go amiss about now,” he says pointedly, when Harry looks from the butter to the smouldering toast to the empty frying pan and the flowers.
Opening his mouth and then thinking better of it, Harry moves towards Neville and wraps his arms around Neville’s waist. Kissing Neville’s nose, Harry smiles. “All this is for me?”
“It’s not every day you turn 23.”
“I’m sure the kitchen is quite glad of that.”
“Don’t be an ingrate,” Neville chides, sliding his arms around Harry’s waist and pinching him. He chuckles when Harry jumps slightly.
“I wasn’t hungry for food anyway,” Harry says, his hands sliding under the waistband of Neville’s pyjama bottoms.
“An excellent plan from the fearless leader.”
“I just follow you,” Harry says, before dragging Neville back into the bedroom.
::
Neville winds up being late for work and spending most of his morning talking avidly to Fontleroy, his favorite Vampire Fern, about the prospects for the Tornadoes in the championship and whether or not Harry will understand his birthday present. His assistant, Joanna, has to remind him about the Gnarled Band o’Roses that’s been requested by the Ministry, and most of Neville’s lunch winds up being fed to Glenda, Hermione’s owl that brings the menu for Harry’s dinner that evening.
Halfway through his walkthrough of Greenhouse C, Neville completely forgets what he’s supposed to be doing and goes back to Greenhouse A to play with the Trilling Tulips that laugh when they’re tickled. Sometimes it’s quite good to be the boss, and he leaves early after Joanna chides him for trying to feed the Tentacula without using gloves.
::
After the birthday dinner at the Burrow, they Floo back to the flat, and in all his inebriated glory the great Harry Potter trips on the grating and lands on top of Neville with an ‘oomph.’ There’s a considerable throbbing in Neville’s arse when he lands on his tailbone, but he smiles at Harry sprawled out on top of him. Harry’s leer is soppier than he probably intended, and his glasses are barely hanging on by one ear. Neville slips them off before any further harm can befall them.
He murmurs softly when Harry kisses him with a mouth that tastes of nettle wine and chocolate frogs, and he allows Harry to grope him drunkenly before coaxing him to his feet and walking to their bedroom.
A large picture window lets in neon light from the chip shop down the street and the pub on the corner, and even at night their bedroom never gets truly dark. Harry flops onto their bed, and Neville laughs when Harry’s version of 'Happy Birthday (To Me),' turns into ‘Harry’s Burp Day, Indeed.’ Harry’s fingers get tangled in the buttons on his trousers, and his curses only quiet down when Neville deigns to help him. They’re buried deeply under the duvet and curled up face-to-face before Harry speaks again.
“It was a wicked party,” he murmurs, shifting to tuck his head under Neville’s chin. “I had a great time, cheers.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Neville strokes Harry’s hair absently, he doesn’t expect it to move, it just feels soft and welcoming under the palm of his hand. The scars that travail his hands from The Last Battle are still sore and irritable sometimes. “I reckoned you’d earned it after the last year.”
“I think you deserve a party more than I do.” Harry’s lips brush against Neville’s collarbone, and he shivers slightly, which causes Harry to tighten his arms around Neville’s waist. The drunken slur in Harry’s speech seems to have dissipated, and he pulls back slightly to look Neville in the eye. “There are all kinds of heroes you know.”
Neville blinks. “I don’t need a party.”
“That’s not the point, Neville.”
“I have you; the rest of it doesn’t matter.”
“I dunno,” Harry says. “There are a lot of people who’d beg to differ. I pretty much think I’m the lucky one here.”
Neville considers Harry seriously for several seconds. “I didn’t know birthdays made you sappy.”
Harry's laughter echoes in their bedroom, and he pinches Neville lightly before kissing his jaw. “You cheeky bastard.”
“I try, but people generally miss the cheeky bit for the clumsy bit.”
“Yeah, well, I’d prefer if they keep their presumptions. I’d hate to have to fight off the masses any more than I already do.”
It’s Neville’s turn to laugh, and he cups the back of Harry’s head to bring their forehead together. Harry’s lips are smiling but the light doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s almost as if he’s actually worried about something, and Neville can’t have that. Not after all that other business with He-Who–Neville-Does-Not-Like-to-Name-Ever.
Of course there are lots of things that Neville doesn’t like to talk about, he’s the poster boy for the English Stiff Upper Lip. He prefers to keep his head down and get on with it. Neville Longbottom never meant to fall in love with Harry Potter, just as he never thought he would be the one to kill Whatshisname. It just sort of happened, like much of his life.
“Don’t worry they’re no competition for the Great Harry Potter,” he says, his lips brushing against Harry’s. “You’re always going to be my hero.”
“Even though you’re the one who saved the world?”
“Harry, who do you think I was trying to save it for in the first place?”
Harry’s silent as Neville considers him quietly. “I had to make up for breaking your prophecy some how you know.”
Harry blinks, and then a huge smile breaks out on his face again. “So that’s what that Christmas ornament type thing is supposed to be.”
“I thought it was quite a good birthday present myself,” Neville says.
-finis-
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
serialkarma. Keep the new-OTP faith!
Harry Potter
Accidentally on Purpose
There are more shells in the pan than there are egg yolks, and Neville sighs in defeat, laying the wooden spoon on the counter to free his wand hand for spelling away the mess. A tap here and there, and the mess is gone, leaving Neville to prepare the flowers he brought home last night from the nursery. At least he’s quite good with those.
Neville’s entire life falls under the heading of ‘Accidentally on Purpose,’ and he shakes his head as he clips the end of the Fawning Fairylilies and places them carefully into the plastic vase he invested in after the last one broke. Correction: after he broke the last one. Sometimes Neville wonders how he gets himself through the day without cutting off his own toes and fingers, and then he makes sure that the wand in his pocket is not pointing toward his groin.
The Fairylilies exude a faint shimmer, and Neville carefully places the vase on the kitchen table before turning back to preparing breakfast. Harry normally does the cooking, but every now and then Neville takes his turn. When he gets himself together Neville is a cracking cook, but the causalities of his meals tend to outweigh the benefits. They’ve gone through four sets of crockery this year alone, and Neville shakes his head when the smell of charring toast reaches his nostrils. He’s been daydreaming, again, and that was the last of the bread.
He curses half-heartedly, dropping the last of the butter on the floor, and considers letting Harry make his own breakfast before thinking better of it. Neville mutters a cleaning charm to get the bits of dust off the butter, and then runs cold water over it just to be on the safe side. He wants everything to be as close to perfect as it even tends to get, but then Harry emerges from their bedroom, hair askew and scratching at his bare stomach, and Neville drops the butter on the floor again.
That pretty much sorts that.
Neville lips twitch as he watches the birthday boy stumble over his own trainers into the kitchen, and Harry pauses at the entryway to take in the entire scene. His snicker turns into an enormous yawn before he crosses over to the sink where Neville’s standing. Neville whacks Harry softly with the wooden spoon he’d meant to use to scramble the eggs, and makes sure neither one steps in the pat of butter on the floor.
“A little appreciation wouldn’t go amiss about now,” he says pointedly, when Harry looks from the butter to the smouldering toast to the empty frying pan and the flowers.
Opening his mouth and then thinking better of it, Harry moves towards Neville and wraps his arms around Neville’s waist. Kissing Neville’s nose, Harry smiles. “All this is for me?”
“It’s not every day you turn 23.”
“I’m sure the kitchen is quite glad of that.”
“Don’t be an ingrate,” Neville chides, sliding his arms around Harry’s waist and pinching him. He chuckles when Harry jumps slightly.
“I wasn’t hungry for food anyway,” Harry says, his hands sliding under the waistband of Neville’s pyjama bottoms.
“An excellent plan from the fearless leader.”
“I just follow you,” Harry says, before dragging Neville back into the bedroom.
::
Neville winds up being late for work and spending most of his morning talking avidly to Fontleroy, his favorite Vampire Fern, about the prospects for the Tornadoes in the championship and whether or not Harry will understand his birthday present. His assistant, Joanna, has to remind him about the Gnarled Band o’Roses that’s been requested by the Ministry, and most of Neville’s lunch winds up being fed to Glenda, Hermione’s owl that brings the menu for Harry’s dinner that evening.
Halfway through his walkthrough of Greenhouse C, Neville completely forgets what he’s supposed to be doing and goes back to Greenhouse A to play with the Trilling Tulips that laugh when they’re tickled. Sometimes it’s quite good to be the boss, and he leaves early after Joanna chides him for trying to feed the Tentacula without using gloves.
::
After the birthday dinner at the Burrow, they Floo back to the flat, and in all his inebriated glory the great Harry Potter trips on the grating and lands on top of Neville with an ‘oomph.’ There’s a considerable throbbing in Neville’s arse when he lands on his tailbone, but he smiles at Harry sprawled out on top of him. Harry’s leer is soppier than he probably intended, and his glasses are barely hanging on by one ear. Neville slips them off before any further harm can befall them.
He murmurs softly when Harry kisses him with a mouth that tastes of nettle wine and chocolate frogs, and he allows Harry to grope him drunkenly before coaxing him to his feet and walking to their bedroom.
A large picture window lets in neon light from the chip shop down the street and the pub on the corner, and even at night their bedroom never gets truly dark. Harry flops onto their bed, and Neville laughs when Harry’s version of 'Happy Birthday (To Me),' turns into ‘Harry’s Burp Day, Indeed.’ Harry’s fingers get tangled in the buttons on his trousers, and his curses only quiet down when Neville deigns to help him. They’re buried deeply under the duvet and curled up face-to-face before Harry speaks again.
“It was a wicked party,” he murmurs, shifting to tuck his head under Neville’s chin. “I had a great time, cheers.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Neville strokes Harry’s hair absently, he doesn’t expect it to move, it just feels soft and welcoming under the palm of his hand. The scars that travail his hands from The Last Battle are still sore and irritable sometimes. “I reckoned you’d earned it after the last year.”
“I think you deserve a party more than I do.” Harry’s lips brush against Neville’s collarbone, and he shivers slightly, which causes Harry to tighten his arms around Neville’s waist. The drunken slur in Harry’s speech seems to have dissipated, and he pulls back slightly to look Neville in the eye. “There are all kinds of heroes you know.”
Neville blinks. “I don’t need a party.”
“That’s not the point, Neville.”
“I have you; the rest of it doesn’t matter.”
“I dunno,” Harry says. “There are a lot of people who’d beg to differ. I pretty much think I’m the lucky one here.”
Neville considers Harry seriously for several seconds. “I didn’t know birthdays made you sappy.”
Harry's laughter echoes in their bedroom, and he pinches Neville lightly before kissing his jaw. “You cheeky bastard.”
“I try, but people generally miss the cheeky bit for the clumsy bit.”
“Yeah, well, I’d prefer if they keep their presumptions. I’d hate to have to fight off the masses any more than I already do.”
It’s Neville’s turn to laugh, and he cups the back of Harry’s head to bring their forehead together. Harry’s lips are smiling but the light doesn’t reach his eyes, it’s almost as if he’s actually worried about something, and Neville can’t have that. Not after all that other business with He-Who–Neville-Does-Not-Like-to-Name-Ever.
Of course there are lots of things that Neville doesn’t like to talk about, he’s the poster boy for the English Stiff Upper Lip. He prefers to keep his head down and get on with it. Neville Longbottom never meant to fall in love with Harry Potter, just as he never thought he would be the one to kill Whatshisname. It just sort of happened, like much of his life.
“Don’t worry they’re no competition for the Great Harry Potter,” he says, his lips brushing against Harry’s. “You’re always going to be my hero.”
“Even though you’re the one who saved the world?”
“Harry, who do you think I was trying to save it for in the first place?”
Harry’s silent as Neville considers him quietly. “I had to make up for breaking your prophecy some how you know.”
Harry blinks, and then a huge smile breaks out on his face again. “So that’s what that Christmas ornament type thing is supposed to be.”
“I thought it was quite a good birthday present myself,” Neville says.
-finis-
Notes: Written for
serialkarma. Keep the new-OTP faith!
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